


The Christening

by InnerSpectrum



Series: Mystrade is Our Division Prompts [33]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Car Accidents, Facebook: Mystrade is our Division Fic Prompts, Mystrade Prompt Challenge, Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 10:02:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18008840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InnerSpectrum/pseuds/InnerSpectrum
Summary: Mycroft and Greg were in a car accident. Anthea calls in Sherlock and John when she immediately realizes why.





	The Christening

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mystrade is our Division FB Fic Prompts | Mess

 

“Want to see my newest toy?” Mycroft had teased, “Come downstairs.”

Greg grinned in anticipation at the sight of it, “Oh, this will be fun! We have to christen it!”

Fun?

It was a mess.

The two men and the woman looked at the Mclaren 720S Spider by the side of the road.

Well, what was left of it that is.

The Silica White exterior of the machine with Palladium painted exterior body color accents and exhaust tips in Stealth finish was scratched, dented in several places and dirt covered. The door of the driver side was destroyed by the “jaws of life” used by the emergency rescue personnel to cut through. It exposed the beautiful Carbon Black Leather dash and Carbon Black Alcantara seats with Red Leather accents. Deployed air-bags hung limply from the red Leather accented steering wheel and the dash board.  

The driver side view mirror was further down the motorway, one of the 10-spoke lightweight wheels in Stealth finish, still lay on the shoulder of the M1.

Skid marks, glass and other small pieces marked the path of how the sports car had overturned.

It was a mess.

“Really, it looks worse than it was.”  Greg had offered meekly to Anthea. All things considered, Mycroft and Greg were ecstatic.

Any accident you can walk away from, right?

Oh, the side-eye Anthea gave Greg as response! It made the inspector detective want to crawl back into the wreckage where it was safer.

Mycroft had hinted that she was considerably livid with them, much more so than she looked. Greg did not get quite it.

“Are you kidding me - you ratted us out?!” Greg understood just how much as his eyes went wide with surprise when Sherlock and John arrived just as the tow truck pulled up.

 “You both refuse the hospital. Damn right I did!” she snarled.

Yeah, she was _pissed off_!

“She can’t yell at me the way she sincerely wants to and she can’t yell at you while you’re standing beside me. This was the next best thing.” Mycroft crossed his arms and leaned against the black sedan his PA had arrived in with a deep sigh. “Just nod and look contrite, Gregory. We did kind of bring this on ourselves.”

Greg’s _contrition_ went out of the window some thirty minutes later.

John had looked them over, cleaned out and plastered a few scratches from the flying glass, wrapped Mycroft’s wrist and Sherlock _still_ harangued the two of them.

“For god’ sake WE ARE FINE Sherlock!” Greg huffed in exasperation.

“Fine? How the hell are you fine?! You could have broken… EVERYTHING!” the doctor threw his hands up as he yelled that last word particularly loud.

“And yet here Gregory and I stand, or rather lean, with nothing more between us than a few cuts and scratches and my sprained wrist.” Mycroft commented drolly. “Though I concede we will likely feel more pain when the adrenaline fully wears off.”

“I hope you both do!” Sherlock looked the ruined vehicle on the back of a flat-bed truck ready to be towed away.

“What the bloody hell happened anyway?” John asked as he straightened the contents of his medical bag and closed it.

“My foot…slipped...and caused acceleration.”  

Anthea, Sherlock and John turned and stared at Mycroft. He admitted something was _his_ fault.

Gregory ran a rough hand over his head and rested it at the back of his neck as the two men looked at each other, their eyes in barely contained mirth.

Sherlock walked over to his brother and looked him up and down, then turned and gave Greg the same scrutiny.

Anthea did not try to hide her smug expression as the consulting detective face twisted in abject disgust.

John looked from the ever-stoic Mycroft to the equally shameless Greg. His eyes momentarily dropped lower on the two men before he caught himself and immediately brought them back up as they went wide.

“Oh, I did NOT want to think about what that mess was!”

“My god! You couldn’t keep your _hand_ off my brother until you got home, Graham!”

Greg, fully done with the three of them, leaned against the sedan closer to Mycroft and matched the Iceman's stance of arms and leg crossed.

If any of them thought Greg would back down, they had sorely thought wrong.

 “You are aware how near-death experiences tends to significantly increase the libido of survivors, right? I can’t wait to get my _hand_ back on him and create more of a mess. You might want to sit up front with the driver Anthea.”

**Author's Note:**

> I had no idea what I was going to write for the prompt until I saw the photo and Muse grinned lecherously.


End file.
